“Nothing.”
She snorted. “Liam.”
He exhaled. “The chemistry read was this morning.”
Cassie perked up instantly. “Ooh. Big deal. With the Wolfe?”
He gave a tight nod.
Her whistle was low and theatrical. “Damn. And you’re alive to tell the tale? That man is not real. He’s engineered to devastate women and gay men everywhere.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
She caught it, grinning. “So? How’d it go?”
He picked at the chipped mug that had already been waiting for him. “It went… well.”
“Well,” she repeated, unimpressed. “You always say that when something went either extremely not well or exceptionally well. Which one is it?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m a screenwriter. I get paid to be dramatic.” She took a sip. “So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
She lifted her brows. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He sat back, but his hand kept turning the mug in circles.
“You blinked weird when you said that,” she said, leaning forward with a grin that cut right through him. “Your lie-blink is back.”
He gave her a look. “There’s no such thing as a lie-blink.”
“Yours is very specific. Like a nervous lizard.”
A laugh broke out of him despite himself. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall forward again. “It was intense, all right? Jacob’s… intense.”
Cassie leaned in, elbows braced on the table. “Intense how?”
“Just—” He hesitated. “He’s one of those actors who doesn’t leave much room around him. He’s… commanding.”
She nodded. “So he steamrolled you.”
“No. I don’t know…” He smiled, already regretting that he’d answered at all. “It was a good scene. That’s all.”
She leaned back, studying him for a moment. “So why are you being weird today if it went well? It’s like your body’s here but your mind’s elsewhere.”
Liam drew in a breath, steadying himself. “It was just a scene.”
“Then why do you look so rattled?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not in a way that made sense out loud.
Cassie nudged his foot under the table, her voice lighter. “Hey. You’re fine. This isn’t your first big audition. Maybe you just care about this one more than you want to admit.”
“Maybe,” he said, and this time, it almost sounded convincing.
They lingered for a while after that, conversation meandering the way it always did with Cassie—old jokes, half-serious debates about films, the kind of nothing-talk that had carried them through a dozen rough patches over the years. She had that rare gift of drawing laughter out of him even when he swore he didn’t have any left. For a little while, with her teasing and her sharp wit filling the space, he almost managed to forget the kiss. Almost.
